Playing God (34 page)

“I know,” said Lynn as gently as she could.

“I had to. We had to get out of there. They were trying to kill me. Us. Me. I had to find Aunt Senejess. I had to try.”

“Yes.” Every fiber in Lynn wanted to reach out to this confused, young person and touch her. “We had to. There was nothing else any of us could have done.”

“They've still got Aunt Senejess.”

Lynn swallowed. “Yes.”

“You and Arron lied when you said we'd go find her.”

“Yes.”

Resaime's hands curled into fists, crushing both pods. Lynn looked down at the tangled mess of foliage at her feet and wished there was some reply she could make to that. After a moment she gave up trying to find one and went back to picking beans. From her right she heard rustling and tearing and knew that was what Resaime was doing, too.

Lynn caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Arron stood on the second-floor balcony and waved.

“Must be all clear,” she said, straightening up. “Let's get inside.” With Resaime beside her, she plodded toward the house.

Lynn thought she was too tired to panic. After all, they had help now. Arron's friends would be back in the morning. Despite that, a dozen nattering little fears piled out of their holes. What if the ovrth were caught in their lies? What if they changed their minds when faced with their sisters and told what really happened? What if they just didn't come back?

She gritted her teeth tightly and tromped toward the house, keeping Resaime in sight of her good eye.

Arron held the door open for them. It led to a large common space with a central furnace/stove arrangement. Its vent pipe was encased in gaudily painted ceramic. The furniture lay scattered around the room, flipped over and slashed open. Around the chamber, cupboard and closet doors flapped open.

Whoever the owners had been, they'd been fairly well off, then they'd been ill, then they'd been ransacked.

“Somebody beat us to it,” remarked Lynn. The matting under her boots squished. The pervasive damp had gotten inside. The smell of mildew filled the room.

“The good news”—Arron went over to the sink—“is that the water's still running.” He turned a tap and a spurt of clear water gushed out.

Lynn watched it, fascinated. “Resaime, why don't you go upstairs to the sleeping rooms? You need to get away from us.”

“That's good.” Res crossed to the shadow stairs and hesitated. “You checked up there, right?”

“Yes,” said Arron solemnly. “We're the only ones here.”

“That's good.” Her ears twitched nervously, but she did climb the stairs.

There were no cups. Arron unfastened his helmet and they both drank cold, metallic-tasting water from the palms of their filthy hands. Lynn tried not to think about what they were drinking up with the water. There were dozens of reasons why the Dedelphi mostly drank bottled water, ranging from bad sanitation to the fact that many of the plague strains had worked their way into the water table. But they'd be home soon. David could take care of anything they'd caught. Lynn splashed more water on her face and the back of her neck. Arron did the same. Lynn watched him for a minute, without being sure why, and then retreated to the living area.

One of the divans was still upright. She sagged onto it, lying flat on her back. “I may never move again.”

“That's my wish.” Arron collapsed beside her. “Thank God this place is big. Resaime was starting to wheeze even through the breath mask.”

Lynn closed her eye. “I'm worried about the way she was twitching.”

Arron didn't answer, but Lynn was sure he could recite the early symptoms of the plague as wed as she could. Muscle spasms, low, dry cough, general lassitude. How could they tell what might be plague and what was just the aftereffect of poisoning and the Burn? One more thing she didn't know.

“We'll be safe tomorrow,” said Arron at last. He touched her bandage. “Can I take a look?”

Lynn turned her head and let him lift the bandage and remove the padding. She swallowed several times before she was able to croak, “How's it look?”

Arron hesitated. “Not good. I think you've got an infection.”

The pain sharpened for a moment. “I'd be shocked if I didn't.”

“Let me find something better than …” He gestured at the clotted wadding in his hand. “And there might be something you can wear.”

“Arron, sit down and rest, will you?” She touched her face and temple gingerly. The skin under her fingers was swollen and hot. Her fingertips came away covered with flakes of blood and something grainy and yellow-green.

“Can't.” Arron was already on his feet, rummaging through the open cupboards around the dining area. “I've got to do something.”

Lynn didn't say anything. Exhaustion bit hard into her bones. She fumbled in her pocket for one of the bean pods and looked at it without interest. She heard something ripping in the background. She ran a thumbnail around the pod's seam and split it open. The beans inside were kidney-shaped and dark, rich green.

I'm the one who likes real grown-in-the-dirt food,
she reminded herself.

Trying not to grimace, she popped one in her mouth and chewed. It tasted thick, dry, and green.
Better than nothing,
right?
She finished the other four beans in the pod. By the fourth one, it didn't taste so bad.

“What's for dinner?” Arron sat on her seeing side. He had a wad of black-and-brown cloth in his hands. He set it down. Some of it was rags, but underneath them was a loose, brown tunic that he must have found in one of the cupboards.

“Beans and more beans.” Lynn emptied her pockets, spilling pods onto the cushion.

“Better than nothing, right?” Arron made a come-here gesture. She turned her face toward him. She felt him swabbing gently at her face with the rough, dry cloth.

“I sure hope so.”

They fell silent. Lynn wanted to say something. There was so much they needed to talk about. He'd saved them, several times now. She needed to say something about that. Then, they had to plan. They had to figure out what to do when the ovrth came back, and what to do if they didn't, or if Res got sick overnight, or …

But there was nothing to plan with. They had no idea where anybody was, or what was going on around them, or up above them. They knew nothing, nothing at all.

Lynn's hands started to shake. Nothing …

“Lynn? What's wrong?”

My hands are shaking, that's what's wrong. I'm half-blind and rotting and I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!

Tears ran down her face. Deep, sick sobs dragged themselves out of her chest. Her hands shook, her chin shook, her whole torso shook with fear, exhaustion, and ignorance.

“Lynn? Lynn, come on, stop. It'll be okay.” Awkward arms embraced her. “The ovrth won't let us down, and Resaime's not that bad off … Lynn …” The pitch of his voice raised toward panic. “Come on, Lynn. We will be okay. We are okay … Don't do this to me, Lynn. I need … Please, stop …”

Lynn gasped for breath between the sobs. She held up both trembling hands. “I'll be … I'll be okay.” One deep breath. Another. A long, ragged breath. The trembling eased, and she was able to gulp down some of the tears.

“I'm sorry.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing tears and mucus across her face. Arron pressed a cloth into her hand and she held it against her cheeks. “I'm sorry.”

“ ’Sokay,” said Arron softly. “It's been an unbelievable day.”

“Yeah, that it has.” She crumpled the damp cloth in her hands. “Look, get me covered up, will you? Before Resaime comes down to find out what that god-awful noise was and sees me like this.”

Without another word, Arron picked up the rest of his cloths. He wiped down her face and pressed a new pad against her eye socket, binding it in place with long strips wrapped around her whole head. “There, that'll help.”

“Thanks. Have a bean.” She held out a pod to him.

“Thanks. The Getesaph call these
chkith.
They make great soup.” He split the pod open and, without any hesitation at all, popped the beans into his mouth.

They sat there on the divan, munching beans, putting the pods in a neat pile, and saying nothing. Lynn's memory flooded with all the meals they'd shared in college, all of them over endless conversations that had seemed so important at the time. Now, when it was truly important, when it was life and death, she didn't want to say anything at all.

The room grew steadily darker. Arron looked into the thickening twilight. “I didn't find anything to light a fire with,” he said. “We might as well get some sleep.” He stood up and gathered the discarded pods in a double handful. Then he walked to the stove and shoved them into the firebox.

Lynn picked up the tunic in both hands. It was damp. Black-and-grey mold speckled its surface. It smelled. She bit her lip and pulled it over her head. She couldn't travel in rags. The suit was going to fad off by tomorrow, and her shirt wasn't far behind.

Then, despite her protesting joints, she teetered over to the spiral stairway. “Res! Are you good?”

“Yes!”

She pounded the wad softly with her fist. “I'm taking your word on that!”

“Thank you!”

Lynn turned and settled back down on her divan. The moldy smell hung thick in the air. In the deepening shadows, she saw Arron right a curved sofa and toss its half-shredded cushion back in place.

“ ’Night, Lynn.” He lay down.

“ ’Night.” She curled up, huddling in on herself and at the same time willing herself to relax.

A small strange part of her remembered the feeling of Arron's arms around her and missed it. Another part thought of David, and she almost started crying again.

When sleep came, she accepted it as a blessing.

The Inner Office of the Sisters-Chosen-to-Lead was full of Byvant's selected audience when the speaker-guard brought in two of the Members Shavck, Vreaith and Pem. Ishth had the satisfaction of seeing them glance nervously around the room, taking in the witnesses. Four sisters from the upper house, four from the lower, and two complete families from the Defenders’ House that they could still count on, not to mention all the usual clerical staff, special advisors, official recorders, and a pair of journalist sisters with their noters. They were not under any circumstances going to be allowed to take their pictures or notes out of the room, but they added a nice touch.

She and Byvant had bluffed their way through another Confederation session today, but, judging from the tones even their allies were using, they wouldn't make it through a third. Disturbing rumors were running about what the t'Therians were doing in their peninsula. If anything happened, it was going to be important to appear cooperative and blameless. Byvant had agreed firmly. So, late at is was, they had staged this little scene.

The Members Shavck both dressed in very bad taste for a pair of sisters who were supposed to be enacting the business of the people. Vreaith wore a thin, shiny black tunic that hung down to her knees, and the mottled pink hose might as well have been an additional layer of skin. Pem's belted kilt and jacket were a little better, but the yellow and grey were very close to the gold and silver reserved for the Sisters-Chosen-to-Lead, and Ishth couldn't help wondering if that was on purpose.

The speaker-guard locked the door and took up their stations; two on either side of the entrance. The next thing Pem and Vreaith noticed was that there was nowhere for them to sit down.

Ishth and Byvant had agreed ahead of time that Byvant should start, and they had also agreed that all polite preliminaries should be dispensed with.

“Where are they?” asked Byvant.

Pem started so badly she almost backed into her sister. Vreaith laid a warning hand on her shoulder.

“Where are who, Rchilthen Byvant?”

Ishth let herself look weary. “Your people abducted two Humans and two
devna.
Where are they?”

One of the Parliamentarians coughed. One of the journalists lifted her noter a little higher. Vreaith smoothed her ridiculous black-satin blouse down.

It's practically a robe. Who does she think she is? One of the
devna
Queens?

“There has been a misunderstanding,” Pem said.

“On which point?” Ishth dropped her ears back just a fraction. “On the fact that you and your sisters should be brought up on charges of treason, stripped of office, and bled to death for embarrassing your mothers and sisters in front of the Confederation? Or in identifying exactly whose hands took hold of the Humans who came here at our insistence to help us?

“Or as to what kind of clemency could possibly be offered if you give us a quick answer here and now?”

Do we all understand each other now?

Pem's lips twitched like she wanted to bare her teeth. “If all this is true, why are we and our sisters not under arrest?”

“Because we don't have time.” Byvant's lame ear quivered violently. “We need an answer for the Confederation and the Humans. We decided to start the questioning with you. The trials will come later. The evidence for your arrest has been distributed to your sister-members.” She flicked her good ear toward the silent audience. “There is clemency for whoever tells us what we need. As we said, we are starting with you.”

“And if we choose not to agree to this patently illegal and unfounded request?” asked Vreaith.

She gets full credit for calm,
thought Ishth.

“Then you leave,” she said aloud, “and wait for the police and the warrants in whatever fashion you choose. We, meanwhile, send for the next sisters on our list.”

Vreaith looked at Pem, and Pem looked back at Vreaith. Vreaith smoothed her tunic over her pouch. Pem took her sister's hand. Ishth felt her skin bunch and bubble across her back.

Vreaith sucked in a deep breath. “They were being held forty-five miles outside of Mrant Chavan. The mother
devna
died during debriefing. The daughter and the two Humans have since escaped.”

A tide of incredulous murmuring rushed through the room. Ishth waited for it to fade to a background whisper.

“Escaped?” Ishth gestured for Vreaith to go on.

“They killed two sisters to get out,” said Vreaith flatly.